Curtains
by Symphony17
Summary: It all started with the curtains. So really it was all Ulquiorra's fault. But then, wasn't it always? - Rated for mildly mature content and a teensy bit of language.


As he scanned the paper thrust in front of his face with a sinking feeling, Grimmjow really wished he hadn't answered the door. The collection of surprisingly varied women now arguing on his front walk were the last thing he needed right now, and the official-looking documents that had just been presented to him were prompting a growing headache in his temples.

~ Two weeks earlier ~

"I believe this is what is generally referred to as a 'housewarming gift'," Ulquiorra said flatly. An encouraging smile from the redhead by his side prompted him to hand over the exquisitely wrapped package, which the blue-haired Espada grudgingly accepted and dropped on a growing pile of other presents, wrapped with varying degrees of skill. Grimmjow assumed he'd gotten the woman to do it for him, since he'd never thought of the Cuarta as possessing any sort of artistic talent.

Scowling as he shoved the door open for the Arrancar and his companion, Grimmjow silently wondered for the 17th time that day how he had been talked into hosting a party at his recently…. _acquired_ house (but that was a story for another time). The next several hours were quite a blur for the blue-haired host, as such incidents as a tiny Neliel trudging out of the bathroom sopping wet and dripping all over the new carpets (he refused to go into the bathroom to check the damage; he just didn't want to know), Nnoitra cracking the _very expensive_ granite countertop (which Grimmjow swore he'd make the spoon-headed idiot pay to replace), Lilynette yelling at and jumping on Starrk who was lying on the living room sofa, and Baraggan breaking one of the chairs (which he'd claimed as his throne) in the dining room added to the general confusion of having 9 espada (Zommari and Aaroniero had sent their insincere regrets) and assorted arrancar all crammed into 1500 square feet of house.

By the time everybody else had left and Ulquiorra and the woman (mostly the latter) were apologizing and offering to help clean up), Grimmjow was quite ready to wash his hands of the whole affair. Never again, he silently promised himself. Next time, I'm getting a studio apartment on the top floor of a high rise with an unlisted address. And booby traps.

Heaving a sigh of relief at having his mess of a house back to himself, Grimmjow promptly spent the next three hours cleaning up after everyone with a scowl. The pile of still-unopened presents sat next to the door and kept getting in his way, so eventually he just decided to get it over with and ripped them all open. The mantel clock from the Segunda was scoffed at and tossed to the side, as was an ornamental fruit basket, a toaster, and a leatherbound copy of Lolita (with no note, but he had his own suspicions as to the source).

However, the modern art painting in blues and grays from Halibel and her fracciones (the one that had him turning it around and around to figure out which way was up) was grudgingly placed to the side to be hung in the living room at a later date.

And then Ulquiorra's was the last one. Grimmjow hesitated over this one, but he hoped that the Cuarta had at least had the sense to ask for the woman's help with this one. He unwrapped it quickly and stared at the contents for a moment before picking up the note that had fluttered to the ground. It was definitely Ulquiorra's handwriting, careful and measured, and Grimmjow read the short message and fought the urge to both growl and chuckle before standing and walking over to the large picture window that looked out onto the residential street from the living room.

_Given your little habits, I believe your neighbors may find these welcome. I am assured it is also quite appropriate as a housewarming gift._

The next time the woman came over (by herself, to drop off a pie that she said she'd made too much of by accident), she eyed the new curtains and smiled to herself.

~ 1 week earlier ~

"Tch." Grimmjow scoffed in amusement as the (female) missionary took one look at him, blushed, and took off down the front walk with an unintelligible excuse. Comfort is always key. So what if a full-grown woman couldn't handle a little skin? A man's home is his castle, after all, or however that shit went. Closing the door after her, the Espada trudged back into his kitchen to finish lunch, resettling the elastic of his boxers – his only item of clothing – around his waist.

* * *

"Sarah! Is it that _man_ again?" Snorting at her mother's words, Sarah Finn let the sheer curtains over her kitchen window fall shut as she turned to address the older woman.

"Yes, yes it is," she said with a smile, which only grew wider at her visitor's scandalized look. "Oh, stop it, Mom. He's practically part of the scenery here, and I must say, it's a particularly enjoyable part, too."

The 27-year-old had been living on her own for a year, ever since her boyfriend of three years moved on and moved out, and the recent arrival to the neighborhood had done more to spice up her life than anyone had imagined.

* * *

"Momma, why's he got no cloffs on?"

One house over from Sarah Finn, Rachel Sheridan, 35-year-old single mother of two, peeked out the front window and bit her lip to keep from laughing in front of her 4-year-old daughter. "Clo_the_s, Mia. And it's probably because it's hot."

The little girl nodded sagely and tilted her head adorably. "I'm hot too. Can I take my cloves off?"

Shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter, Rachel ignored her daughter's mispronunciation and instead propelled her into the kitchen for lunch as she explained why little Mia could not walk around in just her underwear like the strange man across the street.

* * *

On the other side of Sarah Finn, Myrtle Jackson, 63-year-old president of the Homeowner's Association pressed her lips together tightly as she threw her own curtains shut. "Shameful man," she ranted to herself. "What could he be thinking, to do such a thing in full view of anyone on the street?"

She spent the afternoon with her desktop computer and the rulebook, muttering angrily to herself about impropriety and section 9, subsection C, points IX to XI. She printed up letters and addressed them to all the houses on the block, completely unaware of the civil war that was about to occur.

~ 4 days earlier ~

Sarah Finn went robotically through her mail, setting aside bills and throwing out junk mail. When she got to the familiar handwriting of the old bat who lived next door, she sighed and opened it, eyes widening as she read through it and laughed heartily as she finished the closing paragraph.

"Now, we can't be having with this," she said bemusedly. Folding the letter and sticking in her back pocket, Sarah wrote up a quick heading on a large blank sheet of paper and headed out to pay a quick visit to Claire McDonald next door and Rachel Sheridan one house over.

~ 1 hour earlier ~

Grimmjow cursed when the doorbell rang, still pulling the t-shirt over his head as he went to answer the door. That annoying lady from the first few days was there again, the one who'd sent all those letters and handed him that big-ass book about rules and guidelines or something.

She looked mildly put out as she brandished a letter typed on official Homeowner's Association letterhead and rambled on and about 'section 9' and 'inappropriate conduct' and something about the need for curtains.

Growling with impatience, Grimmjow started to tell her quite explicitly where she could put that letter of hers when a small troop of women of all ages marched up his front walk.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Jackson," the blonde at their head began. "You may remember me; I'm Sarah Finn. Some of my fellow homeowners and I were quite surprised and shocked by your letter a few days ago. I put together a few quiet inquiries and the ladies and I would like to protest your treatment of this neighborhood's newest arrival. After all, we are all free to do as we wish on our own property, are we not?"

A mischievous smile playing around her lips, Sarah Finn presented another piece of paper to the bewildered man standing in his open doorway. "Mr. Jaegerjaques, if you'll pardon the intrusion, the ladies and I would like to present you with this petition." An elderly woman in the back began to chortle as she caught the eye of the Espada and winked. "All of us gathered here, excluding Mrs. Jackson, of course," Sarah Finn continued, "would like to let you know that this is our official petition for the permanent removal of the curtains sometimes seen to be blocking the view of your living room window."

Mouth opening and closing like a fish, Myrtle Jackson gasped for breath and exclaimed, "Well, I never!"

"Oh, hush your whinin'," a cracked voice shouted from the back of the group. "You never were much for anythin', as I recall, young Myrtle, so you just listen to your elders on this. He isn't hurting no one and there's some of us who quite like a handsome sight to wake up to in the mornin'."

A splotchy blush spreading over her cheeks, Mrs. Myrtle Jackson drew herself up and screeched something unintelligible back at the great-grandmother accompanying the young and middle-aged women presenting the petition, who promptly surged forward to present their own opinions on the president of the Homeowner's Association.

And so it was really all Ulquiorra's fault that Grimmjow now had ten women screeching over each other in front of his house. The Sexta knew that anything the Cuarta was involved in would just bring more trouble than was necessary. Retreating into the relative safety of his house to let his employer know that he would not be able to come into work today, Grimmjow locked and bolted his front door to flop back into bed. Maybe by the time he woke up the screaming harpies would be gone.

**A/N: ….Okay, so I really have no explanation for this. It's sort of based on a joke my dad mentioned about how if you walk around your house naked, eventually your neighbors will buy you curtains. Then my sister was talking about all the smexy fanart of Grimmjow in minimal clothing lounging around somewhere. And somehow, one thing led to another, which led to this. xD Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it, at least. Let me know what you thought by leaving a review! Constructive criticism is welcome, but flames will only be used to roast marshmallows.**


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